worth it

It is those times during the hazy 20-hour shifts that stepping out into the frigid air at 1.30am after finishing a run report for the third call of the night is suddenly nothing as a random student I don't know walks by and says "Thank you so much for all that you do. We appreciate it."



And then I just lose it.

oceans

Lately, I've been really finding myself diving deeper into so many things I feel so strongly about and finding myself often overwhelmed at all the things I wish I could do.  Education, medicine, public health, mental health, international development, culture, the world--all the oceans I have fallen in love with and wish I could swim in only to realise that it is not humanly possible (or to some extent, healthy) to dive as deeply as I wish I could into each and every one of them.  

So, I am in a place where I am trying to figure out how I can best swim.  

To figure out what makes me so thirsty to go back to each and every one of those oceans; they have to got to have something in common.  Because this swimmer is occasionally frazzled and infatuated by the delusion that everything she encounters is a cross she is compelled to bear--oceans that are too large for her to ever swim alone in.  She needs to know she doesn't have to--do it alone, I mean.

post-overnight shift rant

I just got done with my shift and was walking to the bus stop only to see in the distance, an ambulance with flashing lights pulling into the bus stop.  My heart stops and my curiosity peaks.  In the distance, I also see two of my EMT colleagues sitting by a male, presumably the patient, and I go into slight EMT mode.  My eyes are locked with such intense curiosity but more so, an intense desire to intervene.  To be a part of what was going.  To see what I could do.  To help.

This job has pushed my buttons, spiked my fight and flight system without fail, disrupted my sleep cycle, forever changed my sensitivity to any beeping tone resembling the radio's, has me out of breath, running to a building up the stairs because my bike broke halfway there, and has my eyes eagerly pierced through the window panes of the bus as I get on in spite having endured a twenty-hour Friday night shift with a 3am call, still trying to figure out what was happening and if I should have stayed on and helped my EMT colleagues despite the end of my shift.  A slight frustration creeps for not being able to do anything.

And it is these extraordinary feelings and compulsions to be of any use for another human being in need of help, even just a little bit, that has me thinking of all of this as more than just a job.  

It makes me start every shift genuinely loving what I do.  And happy that I get to do what I love.

maybe, maybe this is a happy rant.

after

still processing

but

i feel

like i made a difference.

"It made a difference to that one."



and the work cannot be over

The Star Thrower

Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.

One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.

As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.

He came closer still and called out "Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?"

The young man paused, looked up, and replied "Throwing starfish into the ocean."

"I must ask then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?" asked the somewhat startled wise man.

To this, the young man replied, "The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don't throw them in, they'll die."

Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, "But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can't possibly make a difference!"

At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said,

"It made a difference to that one."

- The Star Thrower, Loren Eiseley

I Will Remember

LR: Where are you from?

Me: Well, I’m from Hampshire College in Massachusetts. But my home is actually Malaysia.

LR: Where’s that?

Me: It’s a country—somewhere in Asia.

LR: *pauses* Oh.

MB: I DON’T LIKE GIRLS.

Me: Hm. Is your mom a girl?

MB: *pauses* I’m not talking about ADULT girls.

Me: Oh, I see.

SO: Ms. Andrea, are you going to stay with us for the whole year?

Me: No, just for a month.

SO: Oh.

Me: Why?

SO: Nothing, just asking.

LR: Where are you from again?

Me: Malaysia.

LR: Huh?

Me: It’s a country in Asia.

LR: Oh.

I: Ms. Andrea, do you remember my name?

ZS: How old are you?

Me: 21.

AA: What did you teach last time?

Me: Oh, I’m actually still in college.  I’m studying Psychology and Education.

AA: Oh. (a bit confused)

Me: (realising her confusion) Well, I mean I did teach dance a while ago.

AA: Oh.

Me: But not in New York though.

AA: Oh.

MS: When did you say you’re leaving?

Me: June 23rd.

MS: (counts the days) Can you stay till June 26th?

Me: (didn’t really hear her) Sorry, what did you say?

MS: Um. Our last day of school is June 26th. It’s on a Friday. Do you think you could stay till Friday?

Me: Um. (thinks) Okay, maybe. I’m going to see if I can make it till then. I’ll try.

MS: Okay.

F: Can we come in? (to the classroom)

Me: Um. *hesitates* I think so…yea.

F: (senses my uncertainty) I mean, you’re the teacher.

Me: Right…

B: You’re not leaving yet right?

Me: Not yet, I’m leaving June 23rd.

ZM: No! Will you come back to New York? Will you come find us next time?

Me: Well, my college is in Massachusetts.  But…maybe for graduate school.  Maybe I’ll go for graduate school in New York (half consoling myself) Well, you guys are gonna be in different middle schools in the future… (heart is breaking at this point, realises ZM is upset) But…we can find a way to keep in touch! (even though I know it will be difficult)

ZM: Will you promise not to forget us!

Me: I won’t forget you guys if you guys won’t forget me!

ZM: (pauses) Wait…but how will you know?

Me: …Um…you don’t have Facebook yet, do you?

ZM: No…but I have Instagram!!

It’s these moments that I wonder how much of this will all of us remember in two, three, ten years time.  I am only a part of these kids lives for 1 month and they would probably go off to different places and do different things with their lives.  And the idea that I may not even be able to really have any contact with them after this is, truthfully, heart breaking for me.  Especially when I have a horrible time with goodbyes. I’m still processing all this so hopefully, I’ll figure it out.

JB: YAY!! Ms. Andrea’s coming on the trip with us!!! *hugs me*

B: Wait, you’re not leaving this week are you?

Me: No, I have two more weeks.

B: Okay.

MS: (same girl as last time) Can you leave on the last day, Friday? PLEASEEEEEEE.

Me: Um. Well, my last day is supposed to be on Wednesday. And I have to catch a bus on Friday…

B: (still hopeful) What time?

Me: (sighs) In the morning…

B: Oh…

Me: But I'm going to try and come on Thursday. (MS continues pouting) It's just one day. I really can't miss my bus... (sorry)

ZB: Wait, you’re leaving?

Me: In two weeks.

ZB: What? No, don’t go! Stay longer!

Me: I wish I could.

ZM: Ms. Andrea, are you going to be a teacher next year?

Me: Next year? (laughs) Well, I’m still in college.  I have two more years to go.

ZM: Oh.

Me: (hesitates) But maybe next time.  Maybe next time...I will be a teacher...

ZM: Really??!! You should be a teacher!!!

Me: Hm…I dunno. I don’t know if I’ll be a good teacher.

ZM: What? You’ll be great teacher! For a second there, when you were talking, I thought you were Ms. R.

Me: Oh (tries to conceal blush). You think I’ll be a good teacher?

ZM: Yea! I think you’ll be a great teacher!

Me: Thanks, Z. (I hug her)

Of God, Yellow Snow, and Hugs

Today, another exciting one! My supervisor randomly came in today and asked me if I wanted to sit in on a kindergarten integrated co-teaching (ICT) class. I said yes, obviously. On the way down, she pulled me over to introduce me to Mr. N, the 5th grade teacher, to ask if I could sit in one of the classes. He said yes and invited me to come tomorrow for their field trip to the Metropolitan Museum of Art—AAAHHH!

So, I walked into the kindergarten class and introduced myself to one of the teachers. Sat at the side for the first half as the teacher taught a math lesson by getting the kids to sketch and look at a giant abacus—I liked the visual tools she was using and letting the kids sketch things on the board. I always get a little anxious in a new environment, so, I was slightly worried about what the kids might think of a stranger in their midst. I’ve noticed this anxiety too, occasionally, in college when I’m in unfamiliar settings and recall feeling it in high school a lot when I enter a room of people I don’t really know. I think I’m always hyperaware of inclusivity—the fear of feeling excluded, the anxiety because I don’t want people to feel obliged to including me, too much thoughts. And I’ve been reflecting a little bit more about this and thought that perhaps that is one of the reasons why I HATE seeing other people being excluded—in any way, shape or form. I’ve always felt very strongly about seeing people, especially kids being singled out, or excluded, or even feeling excluded. I just feel like there is that somewhat deep connection that I have with that that I have never outgrown. Hm. Maybe also why I feel very passionately about things I have been seeing and doing these couple of weeks.

Definitely interesting reactions when you are in a room of 5 to 6-year-olds. I think they’re at the age of not having much of a filter yet and they are still growing out of the phase of being in their own worlds and not really paying attention very much to people around them. So, some of them didn’t even really see me. When they do, they do a double take—their eyes would so happen land on me as they’re shifting their eyes. Having realized that there was something different in their purview, they glance back at me with those investigative and inquisitive eyes, almost as if they were trying to make sense of: 1. How did I magical appear and 2. Who is this person that does not look like my teacher (at least not from what my memory tells me). It’s a split second moment but it reminds me of my cognitive development class when we talk about at what age do facial recognition, abstract to concrete thinking, and memory develop or even how they change. It’s really interesting stuff. I see one kid popping his head up from his seat on the rug, over the book shelf between us, to peep at me almost like he is making sure I am real and to know if I am still there, but making sure I don’t see him doing it. The teacher calls me over finally to introduce myself and I tell them I am Ms. Andrea (still feel a little weird rolling off my tongue) and I was originally helping out in the 4th grade (“Hi, Ms. Andrea,” the kids chant) but they said I could come visit kindergarten today. “Oh, of course! Visitors are always welcome to our class!” Ms. J, the teacher smiles and that look just reminds me of a kind mother. She looks much older than the teachers in my usual class and she definitely looks like a very experienced teacher.

Math lesson is over, Ms. J takes out a song sheet for us to sing along too. “Who’s ready to sing this song?” Ms. J chimes. And all the kids hands shoot up into the air. A red-headed boy is so excited and has two hands up, “I can! I can!” Ms. J points at him, “Oooh, you have two hands up I see.” “YEA! I am SO READY. I have TWO hands up so that means I’m EXTRA READY!!!!” Ms. J laughs heartily and looks over at me, “Ah, now, that’s the difference between 4th grade. You don’t see that in 4th grade.” Then, a kid in-charge of the calendar goes to the front to arrange the little cut-out dates into the pockets that make up the calendar. We do a little stretching to Simon Says as the same red-headed boy turns to me and whispers “VOLCANO!!” as he makes a triangle with his fingers. Another boy also turns back, I smile to him, and he looks back at me not exactly smiling but a little in between, like he was deciding if he should smile or stay in his investigative mode. After going over their duty chart (head cut-outs of the kids’ heads on doll-shaped sticks placed in different pockets labeled eco ambassador, teacher’s helper, and a few others), the kids go to their tables for snack. I shuffle around and try to look like I know what I’m doing. “Can you help me open this?” a boy comes up with a kettle corn packet. Things I like about working in elementary school: that non-existent self-conscious phase of talking or even coming up to people you don’t really know. Puts me at ease.

A girl with curly hair who has been eyeing me stands up and walks to me, “Are you a fourth grade teacher?” Every time I get this question, I hesitate, “Um, yea...Well, I’m helping the fourth grade teachers?” She is unfazed with my hesitation, “Are you in Ms. D’s class?” “Oh, I know Ms. D. But I’m not in her class, though. I’m in Ms. M’s class.” She continues, “My brother is in Ms. D’s class.” “Oh, he is? Maybe I’ll see if I can find him next time.” She gets excited and gives me details so that I get all the info I need, “Yea, his name is A. And…And he has short black hair. And my name is L.” “Oh, that’s cool!” “Yea!” she says happily.

I walk towards a boy who is sweeping the floor before this conversation happens:

Kid 1: Did you know that the oldest person is 115 years old?

Me: Who is it?

Kid 1: He's A HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN years old.

Kid 2: Is it God??

Me: I don't think--

Kid 2: DO YOU KNOW GOD???!!!!!! 

Me: Well, I---

Kid 3: That's not God. God is (spreads arms very wide) THE UNIVERSE. He's infinite! NO. NUMBER.

Kid 1: Yea, he's everywhere...in all of us.

Kid 3: (laughs) In all of us? 

Kid 2: Yea...little pieces in all of us. 

Kid 3: No, he's not. (pauses) ...little pieces?…like in our minds?

Kid 2: Nah, he can't be.

Me: Hm. You never know.....he may be in your hearts too.

Kid 3: (puts hand over chest and looks at it) Our hearts?

Kid 2: GOD'S IN LITTLE PIECES IN ALL OUR HEARTS!!!!!!

Sigh. One of those moments when I think that what better place could I ever be.

Kid 3: Do you know why we have brown hair?

Me: How?

Kid 3: Coz God took our poo poo and put it in our hair.

Me: WHAT?!

Kid 3: Yup. That’s why.

(1 minute later)

Kid 3: Do you know why we have yellow hair?

Me: No... Why?

Kid 3: Coz God put it there.

Me: Ooh, God put it there?

Kid 3: Yup.

Me: How did he put it there?

Kid 3: God put it there. He took yellow snow and put it on hair.

Me: Yellow snow?! Um, I don’t know. I don’t think he used yellow snow.

Kid 3: Yea, he did.

Kid 1: What’s yellow snow?

Me: Well…it’s…snow...that’s yellow. (thinks about how to break it to the kid)

You know how they always say don’t eat yellow snow?

Kid 1: Yea, I know. But why?

Me: Well, coz there’s something in it that’s a little dirty.

Kid 1: What's in it?

And the conversation was cut short by kids having to pack up and line up to head to the gym for P.E. As they lined up, another girl came up to me to ask if I could help her open her snack container. Then, another girl pointed at the digital watch I was wearing, “I like your watch.” “Oh, thanks.” “What are all the buttons for?” “Well, one of them lights up the watch,” I press it and semi-cover my watch to show how it glows in the dark. Her eyes widen, “Wow.” And out of nowhere, the red-headed boy comes close to my body and touches my tummy, he pats it all the way to my back, as if finding a comfy position to rest his encircled arms around my waist, rests his head on my tummy,

and hugs me. out of nowhere.

Did he really mean to do that?  Did he get the right person? I think he is mistaken, so, I let it slide. But just as the teacher is getting everyone in line and I stand by the side of the line, it happens again. Somehow, this little red-headed boy finds his hands and little body just like the first time, as if it was nothing out of his ordinary day, and gives me a soft, pudgy hug, not letting go.

And I hug him back. And we just stay there for a few seconds.

And I am just a big puddle of rainbow, unicorn, and hot chocolate kind of mess. 

*

How do kids do that? How do they just come up to you 

and just hug you 

and make you feel 

like the best thing in the world?

Sigh. That was my day, guys. My day. 

Unbelievable.

Onwards: Winning and Losing

June 12, Friday
I’ve been thinking about the concept of winning, how we’ve constructed that concept, how this has influenced how kids look at winning and by extension, how we educate people (in this case, kids) how to handle failure or "losing". Had field day today, something like sports day. We hopped on a bus and headed to Asphalt Green, a big field in which the parent-teacher association (PTA) organized different play stations for the kids to experience. The school has an incredibly strong and wealthy PTA who amassed probably hundreds of dollars to rent the place out, prepare the lunch and snack for around 300 kids, and to just get everything together.

It’s interesting to see how competitive the kids are in the field. All good fun in most cases with them cheering their teammates on. Our class of 31 kids was split into two. I tagged along with Ms. R who took one half while Ms. M and Mr. N took the other. Amidst the crazy cheering (we were the blue team) and occasional child crying from being hit in the face (by a sponge?), I actually learnt way more than I expected to, particularly, in seeing how Ms. R handled the kids. Ms. R is the half of co-teaching team that usually handles more of the emotional and behavioural aspects that crop up. ICT classrooms are comprised of a general education teacher and a special education one--Ms. R is the latter but they both work together in planning for class. 

Some moments:

1. It is a sack race and the last person on our team just returned and we are rejoicing because we finished first. Then, in the corner, there is a raucous: ZS (the boy from my last post) is trying to get into the sack and half the kids around him are just shouting--I see AA whisper something to him that makes him close his eyes and half stop trying to get in while the other kids are half frustrated in disbelief about something. Ms. R notices the situation just when she s half cheering at our completion (I was also becoming excited at us winning). She realises he might not have gone, tells everyone to calm down and asks ZS if he has gone yet. He shakes his head a bit, closes his eyes, half gets out of the sack and says something to the effect of never mind all while everyone is still screaming and jeering indiscriminately. Turns out, ZS hadn't gone yet and everyone was half mad and half frustrated because if he went now, it would obviously make us lose. I have a gut feeling that AA whispered to ZS to just pretend to have gone from the expression he has. Even though I did feel Ms. R's eagerness to help our team win, she does something simple but hard to do in the moment, sometimes, when you're actually in the game. She asks over all the frustrated kids, "Z, have you gone yet?" The kids roar over her and ZS hesitates to answer but Ms. R says again, "NO, I'm not asking you (other kids), I'm asking Z. Z, have you gone yet? It's okay if you haven't." "No, I haven't." A kid screams, "BUT HE'S GOING TO MAKE US LOSE NOW--" "No, it's okay. He can go. Let's go, Z," Ms. R talks to Z. And he eventually goes, and we surprisingly still win. But that is not the point. You could tell ZS really wanted to go--that big smile while he hopped all the way back to us was one of the biggest I've ever seen as Ms. R got the whole team to cheer him on has he crossed the finish line. As lost as ZS can get in his own world, I am reminded of that part of him that loves to be included in things and in the know of why a person is upset, why a table gets to stay in class for lunch, to see the bird nest everyone is talking about by our AC near the classroom window. 

It could have been a multitude of factors for ZS to have missed his turn--he might have been having one of those moments in his world; the kids were so eager in awaiting their own turns and finishing the race that it was possible that they just forgot about ZS. As disheartening as that is, I have seen it quite regularly throughout my time here. For the most part, it's not that the other kids are "bad" or "uncompassionate" children. They actually, are rather inclusive--they try to engage with ZS if he is part of their team in projects and they politely answer him when he asks a question. But there is that other line that you cross naturally (you would think) like asking how your day was, talking about the last soccer match you played on FIFA, or making plans to have a play date this weekend--those more intimate and interpersonal things you do between and outside class time that you can't really artificially create or structure into. Things that happen almost without thinking, for ZS, in some ways, is more challenging for him to do. And to be completely raw and honest, it does hurt me sometimes when I think about this. His dad sometimes chaperones during field trips and I like his style of inconspicuously making sure ZS isn't too left out or has his little needs met. I can tell by the way he lags behind in the group with ZS who is often a few steps behind the group in his world, pressing his face against the wall as he walks to feel the surfaces of the wall or a simple flapping of the hands and wobbling of the feet as he puts one step in front of the other. All of this has made me more aware of this struggle in empathy skills and the emotional component, which I have read about in theory but never fully understood. It is real and I believe important to recognise in order to effectively navigate and try to work with these unique set of challenges. 

One thing about me being here in the class is that I was never told who actually has an IEP (receives special education modifications or accommodations) and who doesn't. I also don't know what particular diagnoses these kids might have. And if I am perfectly honest, especially in an inclusive setting like this one, sometimes, you can't really tell because they fit well with everyone else. The behavioural and instructional modifications can mostly be seen as really good teaching and great learner-centered environments for learning, in my opinion. This is why I have and still feel very strongly about the grey areas when we talk about general vs. special education, at least when it comes to high incidence cases (mild to moderate disabilities). Also why I feel that many of these "modifications" or differentiated instruction, while validly needed by some learners more than others, can be even more powerful if used in ALL classrooms/learning settings.It goes back to the question I posed in my reflection at the beginning of my Div 2 contract (an academic plan we write during our second year at Hampshire): Is the line between having and not having a learning (dis)ability as clear as we think it is? Can we equate anyone who seemingly struggles to conform to a one-size-fits-all education system as someone with a learning disability? I am not saying that learning disabilities don’t exist. But what I am saying is that there are a wide range of learners in this world and when I look t learners, I don’t see a line separating two entities but rather a spectrum across the board. A spectrum of learners that have not been fully able to thrive in a one-size-fits-all system (yes, I say it again). It’s that analogy that’s been going around a lot these days—"If you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that its stupid.” And that has been violently burning in my mind and heart when I think about how much learning and finding ways to help learners grow and be their best selves matter to me. Gah. So much feels. It really hits me hard in the heart. I really really feel strongly about this.

* 

I thought I would write more but I think I’ll stop here for now. For the love of learning, onwards!

A Day In The Life

June 9, Tuesday
Alarm rings. 6.30 am. I’ll snooze for a bit. 1 minute later, 7.35 am. WHAT. I stumble out, change, brush my teeth, grab a banana, my lunch, and go. 7.50am, I’m getting on the bus. 8.02am, I’m walking through the school entrance. I enter the classroom and say hello to the two teachers Ms. R & Ms. M and the assistant teacher (AT), Mr. N—we get a little excited for the half day today. Ms. R says thank you for putting all the kids’ work into clear sheets, she and Ms. M were floored when they realized I also arranged them alphabetically yesterday, she said, I blush a little. If there’s one thing to compensate for my hesitancy to speak up as much these pass few weeks, it would be my organizational skills. Good job, Andrea.

8.15am, kids file in. Cheerleader by Iyaz is on the Spotify playlist that we have every morning and I feel extra happy today for some reason. Geronimo by Sheppard, Shut Up and Dance by Walk The Moon, and Budapest by George Ezra also did this to me a few days back. I discreetly shuffle to the middle aisle of the room and start slipping in some shoulder shaking, head bobs, knee wobbling, and feet tapping to the beat of the song. Kids are unpacking their bags and getting their writing materials before they get to the rug to start the day. I walk down the side aisle and Q half-jumps at me, “Guess what’s happening tomorrow?!” I get excited that I remember this from last week when I saw her rehearsing lines for Gabriella’s part for the HSM play. “The play!!!” I say. And Q goes on with the most excitement you can possibly imagine about having two full rehearsals back-to-back today and how the school double casts the plays. In that way, each kid gets to be in an important and a not-so-important role—at the end, there will be two showings. I like this idea of not getting any kid to feel left out. I try make a mental note to ask Q when exactly the play is and if I could buy tickets. I decided to save my money and not go for a broadway show even though I’m in NYC but maybe I can afford a school play that’s going to be even more awesome!

Next to me, MB groans as he looks at the first thing on the schedule: Writing: First Draft for Sections 1 & 2, “I’m so behind! I don’t even have a draft. I missed SEVEN DAYS.” I remember seeing his empty chair last week and heard something about a stomach virus, “Hey, I’m sure you’re going to catch up, okay. What happened? Were you sick?” “Yea,” he says and doesn’t elaborate. “Are you better?” “Yea,” he says again, ending the conversation. “Well, good. That’s good.” I try to smile. He looks at me, maybe there was a slight curve up with his lips, I’m not sure. I’m slowly getting my way through MB. He’s always been on the quieter and more apathetic side of things when I talk to him. But he does hold the conversation and I’m glad he’s even open to starting a conversation with me. Sometimes, we undervalue the importance of trust and building relationships, especially with the younger ones. It takes time. It is not overnight. I know this. But if you stick around, sometimes, the progress will amaze you.

All the kids are seated on the rug for the first few minutes of the day to run through the schedule, except for ZS who stays at his desk which is close to the rug. He feels more comfortable sitting on the chair. Sometimes, he puts his head down or looks around the room with this unsaid sense of curiosity and notices the most intricate of things you wouldn’t be thinking of. He is sometimes in his own world but sometimes, his attention to detail can surprise you in the most unsuspecting times. You can tell that he always wants to be in the know of what is happening. Yesterday, he came in with some tears. I didn’t catch the whole conversation but I remember not seeing him last Friday when we had a field trip to Colonial Dames Mansion and the kids got to dress up in colonial clothing. I guessed that may have something to do with it. He bounced back fast though, as if he was half-consoling himself in a way, “Well, at least I know what I want to dress up for Halloween now.” Ms. M and Ms. R were doing such a great job as always, drawing him to look at the brighter side and speaking with ease and calm as they always do when handling emotionally-charged situations. Need to remind myself to learn from that. Yesterday, the kids did this activity of reading a quote from a jar and explaining what it means—the quote was “Everything you can imagine is real.” ZB’s hand shot up and with the most wide-eyed wonder, almost absent-minded, of an expression he said, “I guess it means that everything that you can imagine is always real in your heart.” And I was floored right there and my heart started melting inside. Oh my gosh, how do these unassuming kids come up with such strong words? Ridiculous.

Before kids go back to their desks to work independently on their writing, Ms. R & Ms. M briefly review what they did the last class. What I like about the way they do this is that instead of just lecturing/telling the kids, they ask questions in the beginning and get them drawing out prior knowledge—they talk about how they’ve finished researching and the next step in the writing process is drafting. This makes me think of the good structure they have in place in teaching kids how to write—I don’t remember having this in school. Few days back, they went through it: brainstorm, choose a topic, research, draft, publish and I was actually taking notes myself because I thought it would help me with my future writing…in COLLEGE. I then think about Malaysia and how we need to improve the teaching of English as well as writing in any language really. Less about some template to always use for exams but rather go through the writing process and different writing styles we can use—kids talked about writing with questions and answers, cause and effect, etc. However, one thing I am still a bit iffy about is the tendency of fishing out particularly words or answers that they want to hear. I’m wondering how that affects how kids understand right vs. wrong. I don’t want learners to only want to get that exact word I’m thinking about—what if they thought about the concept but just using a different word? That would be acceptable too, no? We may want to steer away from the trap of getting kids to regurgitate what was said instead of thinking critically and using their own words to express their understanding. Hm.

The class also has a fuzzy system as kind of an extrinsic motivator for the kids to participate or behave well. You get a fuzzy if you manage to answer a question well or perform a good behavior—something like positive behavior support that I learnt in my class last semester. My thoughts on this has evolved quite greatly since my final paper on intrinsic vs. extrinsic motivation and then throughout my time in P.S. 6, personally giving students fuzzies, observing others give and get fuzzies, and then seeing the kids come together every week to competitively count the fuzzy points for their table and get rewarded if their table has the highest amount of fuzzies. I also see the occasional fights and allegations that break out among tables accusing people of stealing or adding fuzzier that aren’t their’s into their jars for the sake of winning. 1. I think the kids have the goal wrong—it is not about winning only. This fuzzy system was first created for behavior and in some occasions, it backfires but, I mean, even in any game, unhealthy competition happens, but perhaps it calls for the need to regulate and coaches and teachers to be more aware, preventative, and engaged in figuring out how best to navigate these situations. 2. As ugly as these fights can sometimes be, it can also be a good time and situation for a lesson in honesty and the honor code. I think it provides a good scene in which kids can relate and are actually in the scenario to understand the different factors involved. With good facilitation and use of this occasion as a moral lesson, we may be able to get kids to think critically about how they act, their behavior and how it can transfer to bigger situations in the world.

We watched Liberty’s Kids next period which is a cool historical fiction TV series designed for kids studying the American Revolution! The amount of sources that are out there—the songs and all the cool commercials—it’s amazing how fun the learning seems to be. Makes me think about ways we can make content more fun and exciting for learning, especially in Malaysia. However, the kids did struggle once or twice when they just watched it without Mr. N stopping at certain points and allowing them to have a discussion about what just happened. I think this says something about technology and using it right and in compliment with your teaching as opposed to replacing what you need to teach.

Next period, music—one of those specialty classes that the kids travel to another classroom to be taught by another teacher (same goes with Science, Media, P.E.). Music class is taught by an older teacher, who reminds me of everything a traditional classroom looks like. Mr. N even told me to pay attention and try comparing the situation in the music classroom with the regular classroom atmosphere we have usually. Let me tell you, it is different, to say the least. Ms. W screams around 15 times throughout the class to be quiet, she really beats down hard in scolding the kids who talk too loud or even slightly when she is speaking. She even reprimanded us teachers twice—once, for not looking at her and only her in the classroom (I was distracted by a boy, J in the class who was slightly making a scene and I was trying to somehow calm him down) and another time for sitting too silently and not help her quiet the class down. She did this in front of all the children. She called us out. She resorts to giving people bench time at lunch quite easily. A lot of the kids are either scared, despise the class, or try to get out of it (two of them tried going to the bathroom right before the class which I reluctantly allowed only to get to class late and have Ms. W apprehend us teachers for letting her start the class without telling her that there were kids missing). Having said that, my first day in the class, Ms. W greeted me with a warm bear hug and a firm handshake. She ensured that I had a good chair to sit on and asked what my name was. When I said I went to Hampshire College, her eyes lit up because she went to Bennington—a similar college in Vermont. I was glad. While I was taken aback by her roaring voice and very fervent focus on getting the kids seated at just the right shape of a semicircle rather than just get on with her lesson, I did sense that she meant well. She even said several times to the class “I love you and I don’t like doing this (scolding them).” Nonetheless, when I enter the class as a kind of “assistant teacher,” I admit that I fear being reprimanded and making a mistake or being scolded for the most trivial things like taking my eyesight away from her for a split second, slouching too significantly on the chair, being too noisy, being too quiet and not helping her quiet down the class, paying attention to her, getting kids to pay attention to her, and the list goes on. And I guess I want to say that if my list of worries and fears being in that classroom for only once a week for a month now is this long, I can only imagine the many qualms the kids have. I can even tell by the amount of people asking to go to the nurse and bathroom right before music. I feel I have to ask myself: is true learning happening here? As disheartening as this atmosphere can be in terms of our efforts to transform education and learning to be something enjoyable, I feel like I can see this setting quite commonly in so many classrooms across the world. Maybe I have been accustomed to a more progressive education setting at Hampshire but when I reflect more, I realize the similar patterns I have experienced in primary school and high school just like this one. It just didn’t seem as out of place, last time, because this whole establishing order and consequences in the form of strict punishment was a more general practice that it made it seem in the norm. Now, having experienced progressive and more collaborative settings, I realized that I am growing more uncomfortable with the former setting—but for a valid reason, in my opinion. I guess that’s just where I’m at when I think about effective and conducive learning—not in an environment that learners fear failure.

Kids then detour to the 1st grade classroom to meet their buddies! A system set in place in hopes of getting the 4th graders to guide the 1st graders, each having their own buddy. We sang (shouted) Budapest and Good Time together. Then, the 1st graders showed their mentors the picture book stories they created. I saw some good stuff: 4th graders who were, at times, inattentive or apathetic during regular class time actually treating their buddy well, taking care of them, or even just respecting their buddy and listening to the 1st grader tell his or her story. All of it reminding of the value of collaboration and the zone of proximal development (ZPD) that I learnt in class.

We head back to class and we celebrate coz we will be watching another episode of Liberty’s Kids. School’s out and I am so spent and it is only a half-day. I go back and swim in my awesome time alone for the rest of the day. 

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Whew. Didn’t think I’d make it. Writing down my thoughts throughout the day is more tiring than I thought. Will try again tomorrow or the next day. Takes a while to flesh out.

Where Am I

So, where am I right now? I decided not to go home for the summer (tough) and try to make the most of the opportunities in the US. I am currently in New York City, enjoying my days hanging out with the loves of my life—kids in their natural habitat of learning and school. Officially, I have an internship at an elementary school in the Upper East Side, Manhattan till the end of June. The internship is aimed at me getting more hands-on experience on inclusive education, a term which roughly means a learning environment in which all learners as well as those with varying learning (dis)abilities are included. P.S. 6 has this interesting model of an inclusive classroom called the integrated co-teaching (ICT) classroom which comprises of 60% of kids in general education, who ideally do not have any behavioral problems and 40% of kids in special education, whom the individualized education plan (IEP) team decide would benefit best in an inclusive setting—normally, those who can progress well academically but are just in need of several kinds of modification in the teaching and learning process (being in special education does not automatically make you a good fit to be in the ICT classroom). The classroom is structured with two teachers—one would be specialized in general education and the other, special education. They both co-teach and work together to provide differentiated instruction and modified ways of teaching, learning, and assessing based on the modifications required by the students in the class. It is a very fluid process, which I thought and have found to be so intriguing and complex to see these two teachers work together in navigating all these factors—it is much harder than we think it is yet Ms. M and Ms. R make it look simple. I am learning so much just by looking at how they communicate, collaborate, and interact with each other and the students. I have two more weeks left. I will be writing extensively in my following posts, mostly for myself to reflect and also think about the connection between theory and practice—tools, ideas, old and new thoughts I want to keep as a healer, giver, lover, learner, teacher, whatever you may call it. So, forgive the long-windedness. You are welcome to dance in my thoughts if you are still awake by the end of it.

P.S. I’ll be using initials to talk about people to protect their identities because it does get pretty personal, at least my thoughts about situations. Glad I know the names of every kid in my class—30 of them. That also means they may have the same first initial, so, I might do first and last initial.

P.P.S. I am having the time of my life.

I Live, I Feel, and I Keep Running

This weekend has been a bit icky.  Hiding out in my room or on the first floor of my residence to get wifi as I eagerly refreshed my Facebook newsfeed, sucking up all the news I could get about home.  I remember this happening to me before when MH370 went missing and I was in the middle of classes at Hampshire.  I've been thinking a lot about what I've been doing and asking myself why do I do this to myself—feel too much.  I don't have anyone I know directly involved in these things and yet I spend hours in front of a computer, reposting almost every news article or picture I see.  It's like I'm afraid to feel disconnected when in some ways, I am—something about being away from home that gets me sometimes.  As an EMT, I learn about the stages loved ones of the deceased may go through: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  But I would say that these feelings are not exclusive—grief and loss, be it temporary or permanent, are those complex things that all of us experience.  It really does feel like a part of you is empty.  You watch every single video you can, read every single news articles you can, and find anything that can remotely remind you of home.  You use them as your form of solace or way of filling up that empty part of yourself.

I've been thinking about what we say to people who are suffering or affected by tragedy, having been on both ends.  We tell people to stay strong immediately after disheartening events, as if being sad is not allowed.  Sadness is an emotion that is just as legitimate as happiness.   If this is what we are feeling, does it not seem only right to allow ourselves to feel what we truly feel?  Sometimes, I feel suffocated by the feeling that I have to put on this face that everything is alright when everything is clearly not.  Maybe, we have to start telling each other that it's okay to not be okay sometimes.  Maybe strength is more than just suppressing emotion.  Maybe true strength is being brave enough to cry, smile, be angry, and laugh because they are all part of being human.

I've also been thinking about what it really means when we say we are sorry for their loss, that it was not time for the person to go.  When is the right time exactly to go?  At what particular age do we have to be for it to be "okay" to die?  I don't have the answers to these questions, nor are they meant to be offensive.  I don't know what I would feel when death brushes my shoulders or the ones of my loved ones but what I do know is that it will happen no matter how much we do not want it to happen. The deceased will never be at the "right" age to die because death of a 4-year-old and death of an 84-year-old still hits you in the face with the debilitating power to crush you for what will seem like forever.  What I am trying to get at is that there will never be a right time for death or tragedy. But there will always be a time for life before, during, and even after death and tragedy. I acknowledge the tragedy of the dead climbers on Mt. Kinabalu and the flaws of the SAR team.  But I also see how much life I have seen in these few days: the mountain guides voluntarily risking their lives to return to Mt. Kinabalu to bring the climbers down, the villagers preparing food for the guides and fundraising for the deceased, the impromptu mural created that have received an immediate vigil in solidarity of the people at Mt. Kinabalu late into the night.  Maybe in tragedy, it's time for us to not only acknowledge the death, but also the life in it.

I guess these thoughts have always been with me since confronting the death of my best friend's father at the age of 17.  I remember feeling this overwhelming amount of grief at the funeral that my uncontrollable crying surprised my parents, my best friend, and even myself.  That's when I started noticing my heightened sensitivity—more than everyone else around me—to loss, grief, and a wide range of emotions of other people.  To me, it felt incredibly easy to find a connection to the people and things that were close to my heart, even when I didn't want to and even at times when it wasn't emotionally healthy for me to do so.  In truth, I think that has been a big fat reason for my fascination and sometimes, ruthless desire to be an Emergency Medical Technician.  I looked up to service providers such as EMTs for their capacity of having the knowledge to be of help and that has been my motivation ever since.  Of course, I have grown a lot and some perspectives have changed since the beginning of my first year working as an EMT (stories that I hope to write about in perhaps my next post).  And they have all been a big part of my reflections on what I want to do in my life.  I know it's a big fat question that I have no definite answer to.  But being more aware of this aspect of myself has helped me arrive at several small answers to that question:

I know that in my life, I want to be able to help people.

I know that in my life, the value of seeing people heal, learn, change, and grow have been things I hold very close to my heart.

And as much as I have grown and evolved, I really do believe these essential things have not changed.  These few years have just helped me rediscover  and find courage in standing up for who I am and where I belong.

So, I'll keep running.

Jump

For as long as I know, I’ve been struggling with externalising my thoughts a lot—one of the reasons why my blog posts, I feel, are so far apart and disjointed from each other. Lately, I’ve not been liking my style of writing—mulling over things too much to the point that I lose that urge to finish writing a post. Too much of wanting everything to sound “perfect” (whatever that even means). Also, I think, the fear of what outside people may think of my thoughts and of making my stories too personal. Afraid of thinking that people can see what I think, especially those not fully formed.  I think it's just always been part of my personality.  These couple of years jumping leaps and bounds outside my comfort zone has really just made me more aware and sensitive to my inclinations and how best to navigate them at different times.  Guess this may be one of those times to jump, again, and see where I end up.

I’ve been thinking a lot (surprise, surprise). And I’ve been finding more and more value in this idea of journalling, reflecting, and thinking critically through writing (read: being more courageous in expressing myself and speaking up). As much as I love looking and playing with my ideas and thoughts in my head, I feel some of them slip away too quickly.  And speaking up can be liberating albeit heart attack-inducing for people who feel too much (like me). Maybe working as an EMT on-campus for a year and studying more about human emotions, learning, and growth have added to the lens I am looking through. Been feeling a sudden enthusiasm for some change too. In a carpe diem kind of way. 

So, I’m not really sure what this is. But I’m slowly developing this idea of maybe documenting my last few weeks in New York as it happens more. And a mental note to try to write things down as they happen instead of putting it off months and months, waiting for the whole story to end before writing about it. I anticipate frustration, some failure, and anxiety in this little project. But hey, let’s go with it for now. 

I jump

Back and Forth

I feel that there is something I need to say before I don't feel like saying it.  Think about a ball game.  You throw the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  All your life you have grown up being taught that all you do is throw the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  And then, you discover, upon spending time on other fields, that there are other ways you can use the ball--you can dribble it, you can run around with the ball and then pass it back to someone, you can devise a plan to get the ball around the field; some of these moves can even improve your play--possibilities: endless.  You learn these moves until they become a small part of you just like how throwing the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth is.  They become a part of you but you know that deep down, there is no field like home.  You play in these other fields but the home field has never left your body, your heart.  You have this funny and sometimes seemingly naive feeling that you need to return home and experience things like they were before.

But

how does a ball player return and not feel out of place? You know all these new moves with the ball, you try to show other players these moves--some try it out, some like it, some don't.  You realise some moves you've learnt are better than others--you throw some away, you keep some.  But the referee starts to get annoyed and tells you that you have to throw the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth--we've always done that, that's what we're supposed to do, what would people think of you if you did otherwise.  You try for a little while with all your might to throw the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  But something isn't right.  You can't really put your finger on it but there is just something that's a little bit different when you throw the ball.  Once or twice, you notice some players looking at you weirdly.  Maybe you imagined it.  Maybe you didn't.

That's when you step back and think maybe it was stupid to think that things would be like they were before.  You go hard on yourself and wonder if your ego clouded your judgement to think you were better than everyone else. You take another step back and try again.  Be more open, you tell yourself, lose the ego.  You play the game cautiously and throw the ball back and forth, back and forth, back and forth--can't breat--back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.  BACK AND FORTH, BACK AND FORTH, BACK AND FORTH. You realise that there is only so much you can hold back, there is only so much you can give into before you feel like just throwing BACK AND FORTH, BACK AND FORTH, BACK AND FORTH is not truly and entirely the real you anymore.  You ask yourself if this is a bad thing. You ask yourself if you are a bad ball player for occasionally having a thought that this very field you have grown up in, sometimes, feels foreign to you after being away for so long. But you don't tell yourself this out loud just in case it would make it sound even more true. 

I feel the ball in my hands and close my eyes to stop myself from thinking too much.  It doesn't work.  So,

I think about what I know to be true.  One hundred percent true.  What do I know about ball players from all the fields I have been in?  

1. I know that a ball player's greatest strength is the ability to learn and grow.  Why should we undermine their greatest strength by stopping at throwing back and forth, back and forth, back and forth?

2. I know that a ball player can't throw the ball without another player on the field.  I can throw the ball in one million five hundred and thirty-five thousand six hundred and forty-eight ways but if the player who receives it doesn't, nothing is going to change.

3. I know that some moves help a ball player and some moves don't help a ball player.  But I also know that for a ball player to know this, they have to first be willing to try.  Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results--Einstein has a point.

As a ball player, I learnt that we are human first.  We learn, we grow, we make mistakes, and we grow some more.  

As ball players on the field, I learnt that we are not just players, we are a team--a family.  I learnt that a lot of the time, it isn't about the ball or the moves, and it isn't really about the game at all.  

Maybe it was never really about the game. 

So, maybe I'm not doing this just for myself.  Maybe I want to do this for you--scratch that--maybe I want to do it with you.

Sometimes, I just wish that you don't have to make it so freaking difficult, Malaysia.

Love,

on your team, always.

Designing for Learning

A curriculum design class that really helped me find the critical lens I now use when I think about learning.

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I think I came in with the belief that curriculum should be learner-centered and I left having a broader sense of awareness of the different facets to consider in designing a learner-centered curriculum. I feel that I have grown in my understanding of assessment, adaptability, the importance of feedback and revision, scaffolding, and goals. I learnt what assessment can be as opposed to what I thought it was constricted to. Initially viewing assessment negatively from previous experiences of high-stakes standardised testing, I slowly grew more aware of the different summative and formative assessments and their purposes in gaging what learners know and don’t know in order to inform our direction in adapting to the learner’s needs. The cyclical nature of curriculum design (constantly changing based on the learner’s needs and current understanding) as well as the emphasis on revising work based on feedback were definitely challenging for me, having been accustomed to the typically fixed curriculum and final assignment submission. I thought scaffolding was a tool that I wished my previous educators would have used more of—I’m reminded of moments in which my peers and I struggled to make academic jumps when the material was too dense, too quickly. I also saw how a goal-driven curriculum or backward design would keep us on track to achieve the learning goals we set out to accomplish. Besides that, I also grew more aware of designing based on the context and need of the learning environment—finding strengths in inquiry, FCL, PBL and even lectures. The practical aspect of actually having to design curriculums strengthened my prior knowledge in metacognition, collaboration, and transfer—thinking about ways we could facilitate self-awareness, self-regulation, a community that was open to dialogue and differing opinions as well as finding what they learn across different settings into the real world. 

Topics surrounding distributed cognition and learning progressions seemed less clear to me as opposed to the other material we learnt mainly because they are newer concepts and I felt that I didn’t have as much time to really reflect and think more critically about these areas. I hope to further my understanding in this area of cognition and learning sciences, especially in any classes that may explore this in the future. Some weaker connections that I felt drawn too were how this relates to informal learning contexts, critical pedagogy, social-emotional learning, as well as the arts and humanities. Critical pedagogy made me curious about the agency of a learner—How much of a curriculum should be designed based on what the learners want to do? How do we as educators or designers balance between what we hope students will learn vs. what learners want to learn? I have also grown more aware about the value of the different cultures, histories, and families that learners carry with them into the learning space. The mental and emotional health of a learner is still a slightly vague area of study in relation to education but an important one to consider, I think, when we design learning environments. 

In terms of my own practices, I thought the adaptive syllabus of the class aided me in keeping up with the readings and found writing to be the easier means to convey my thoughts. In discussions, I do feel like I have made progressive strides in speaking up as compared to previous semesters. Perhaps I feel more comfortable with the material and discussion-based classes. Though, there were times I felt deterred to speak as much because the class atmosphere seemed a bit quieter and at times, the workload of all my classes kept me from going deeper into the readings as I would have liked. The team project was personally the most challenging for me as we negotiated roles and workload among teammates, especially in instances when I felt the agency and interest of each member towards the project was questionable. However, I thought I did learn how things would possibly be like in a real world setting, working with a team of differing work ethics and styles. 

The course has greatly enriched my knowledge in curriculum design. It has made me very aware of designing for deep understanding—identifying learning goals at the very beginning and working backwards—instead of just fun and/or random activities to do related to a subject area, which is something I wish all educators practiced. I can easily see how these design practices transcend the classroom into all kinds of communities of learners, which I hope to gain more experience in a variety of them. It has made me eager to experience more of these models executed in real classrooms and what the real-life challenges might be. Perhaps even try to design and implement some curriculums on my part, especially in restructuring assessments and designing based on the goals of the learners. I think this class has also contributed to my current question of whether I want to be a teacher and whether there are other paths in education that would also help make learning accessible, equitable, and optimal for different communities of learners. Especially when I am one person, I do question how much I can bring or create change in communities. Coming from a different country, the perspectives that I have differ at times, sometimes in frustrating ways, but I feel driven to continue to think critically about how curriculum design and what I am learning at Hampshire can transfer to systems back home—difficult but not impossible.

Learning Differences

Another year. Crazy. The learning curve keeps getting steeper and steeper. As usual, I like to include the self-reflections I've written at the end of each of my classes. The first one has definitely helped me discover another love--special education and learning (dis)abilities. I am still trying to figure out...my life...at the moment (when have I not). Haha. I mean, I am still trying to piece together what paths I really want to pursue in the coming year, so, my mind is honestly still over the place. Till I get my crazy mind sorted!

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I decided to take this course in the beginning because of my interest in communities of learners with learning differences—it tied into my goals in my Division 2 of exploring how nature and nurture affect the process of learning and questioning the line between having and not having a (dis)ability. I was drawn to this idea of inclusion, which I knew very little about, let alone the policies in place within special education in America. I guess my goal was to dive as deep as I could into this new topic in order to gage if special education or working with communities of learners with learning differences were things I wanted to pursue further. This curiosity definitely transformed into something bigger than me. I was refreshingly surprised by the journey learning disabilities has taken in America, perhaps partly due to the fact that I was coming from a different country that is still in the very early stages in obtaining the same rights allocated in the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA) and Section 504, even as we critique and dialogue in class about the ways in which they can be improved. 

I appreciated getting a clearer breakdown within learning disabilities such as emotional behavioural disorder (EBD), attention deficit disorder (ADD/ADHD), autism spectrum disorder (ASD), mental health, and trauma, which more often than not, intersected. I thought the introduction to classroom management, differentiated instruction, and social-emotional learning answered some “how” questions I had but definitely feel like I could explore this more—there is only so much a semester-long class can cover. It has definitely made me extremely eager to learn more about how these strategies are used in real classrooms, the real-life challenges that happen, and just keep diving deeper.

In terms of work, I found the reflection papers very helpful in fleshing out my opinions and helping me think deeply about the issue at hand and the guiding prompts as good scaffolds for my learning and ability to engage in discussion and written reflection. I was grateful for the action-based tasks we did like the fishbowl individualized education plan (IEP) meetings, the community-engaged learning (CEL) placement, and active discussions with issues we genuinely cared about because I felt I learnt best when I was able to express and practice the theories that I read in some way. I think the free-writes helped me recall prior knowledge but I think the discussions and written reflections were a better representation of what I learnt and thought about the readings. I feel I have improved in my participation in discussions as compared to previous semesters but I do think I can prepare more for readings before class in order to better participate in class (also dependent on workload), given my more introverted nature. My CEL topic was about alternative classroom management strategies for learners with EBD to the token economy system—I found the idea of intrinsic vs. extrinsic motivation in educational practices intriguing but I think my initial struggle in tackling too much with this paper reflected my struggle in education as a whole: an eagerness to learn and cover too many different components that I struggle to narrow down what exactly I want to focus on. While I hope I managed to narrow the focus on my final paper, I hope I will find a way to do that in my educational journey as well.

Some new goals I have discovered along the way include a growing curiosity in finding connections to situations back home in Malaysia, perhaps learning more about the policies set in place not only in education but in special education as well—considering doing a field study or independent project focusing on education in Malaysia in light of my interest to potentially bringing all these great things I’ve learnt back to my home community. It would be very great to find opportunities to compare systems with other countries in Europe as I know places like Finland have been highly regarded for education and early intervention. I have been very invested in seeing where exactly I see myself in all of this—what kinds of roles are needed? Do I want to be a teacher, counselor, psychologist, therapist? What are the differences? How can I be a part of the change I want and where I can I make it? I am also struggling in wrestling between my interests in education as a whole, special education, and thinking about ways they connect or don’t.

Describe yourself as a learner.

This was my first reflection assignment for a class I'm in about learning differences that made me reflect on my whole life as a learner more than I anticipated.  It made me think about a lot of things in the past that has changed and stayed the same.  I thought it would be a good post for this space--a good reminder for myself on what has happened, how far I've come, and the exciting and endless possibilities in the future.  

Sometimes, I feel the need to remind myself about things in the past for fear that I forget and not realise how I got here. Always blessed and striving to be grateful as best I can.

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I would say that I am firstly, a quiet and observant learner.  I find myself most inclined, at the very beginning, to take the world in through all my senses, especially visually.  This is when I allow myself to process whatever it is that is observed and heard for a good amount of time.  The flow of thoughts in my mind being thrown back and forth, in which a part of me plays devil’s advocate, is a big part of how I see myself as a learner, something which the public eye does not see or may consider in a negative light.  It is only when I have preferably heard multiple sides to the story in my attempts to understand motives and make sense of the entire picture, would I start asking myself what I see, what connections I find between different facets especially ones from personal experiences, what I agree or disagree with, which would eventually lead to me forming an opinion on the topic at hand.  Sometimes, this process takes much longer to develop than the duration of a full-length class discussion, which I view as a weakness, especially in classrooms at Hampshire, as well as a strength.  I have found that my strong intent to fully understand all facets (which sometimes may never truly happen) has caused me to hold back in the classroom instead of immediately speaking up—a trait that most of society would view as a weakness: being reserved in the classroom.  Nonetheless, I have grown to see it, also, as an ability that allows me to flesh out my thoughts and produce a response or opinion that is more thought through, exploring multiple facets.  In this way, I would say that I learn and perform best when given sufficient time to process the topic at hand, especially when I am able draw them to what I am passionate about.  When this happens, I am comfortable communicating this verbally as well as in writing.

Thinking about how I interact with the world came to be, I wrestle between my personality (arguably biological for some parts of it) as well as the environment and family I was raised in.  I was born and raised in Malaysia, under the national education system which had, at its core, an Asian value system where hard work, discipline, always listening and not questioning the teacher, being attentive to what is said in the classroom, completing all schoolwork on time, and doing well in examinations were all held in very high regard.  I would say that I have always been the kind of person who would endure anything in order to avoid conflict; I thrived greatly in social harmony.  What this meant for a child was the constant need to try and make everyone happy, especially my parents and teachers.  This made me a “good” student in the traditional sense.

Within the setting of my family, I feel that my parents advocated many core values found in an Asian household (though, some differences which I talk about later).  My mother was and is the most hardworking person I have ever met which says something when you have grown up in an Asian community.  From a very young age, I learnt a lot about how to do things through my mom’s actions and parenting.  I remember countless nights of her sitting with me either giving me extra work on the topic I was learning in school so I fully understood the content or together going through the corrections of the mistakes I may have done in the exercises I completed.  You could say there was a certain structure with regards to my studies which my mother felt was very important not only in my life but genuinely in her role as a mother who wanted the best for her child—in most cases, based on what she wasn’t able to get as a child, she would tell me.  In retrospect, I genuinely did not seem to have much resistance towards the structure, discipline, or the large amount of dedication instilled and expected of me at a very young age not only in my studies, but in everything I pursued.  I have grown to realise that this was because it was not just in my upbringing but truly inherent in me as my own person—it seemed that culture and biology paralleled each other.

Having said that, as I have matured, reflected, and seen my life trajectories in comparison with my peers, I have come to realise some differences in some parts of my family’s core values which has deeply influenced the way I make my decisions, see, and learn from the world, as well as live my life.  The typical Asian reasoning behind hard work is for a better life, to get a well-paying job in order to earn money to provide for your family, and in some communities, fame, power, and status can also be a contributing factor.  While my parents always advocated for me to strive for a better-paying career so that I did not have to go through what they had endured, there is an element of my happiness that seemed to stick in that core value system as well.  I remember my father to have a very kind heart through his actions towards other people and a strong belief and faith in me in what I was capable of doing (including things I didn’t think I was capable of doing). He always had a positive outlook on my triumphs and my failures—a lens through which I find myself using as a learner.  He was my support system through school and still is in spirit throughout my failures in college.  I recall both my parents very enthusiastic about exposing me to a wide range of activities such as the piano, guitar, violin, art classes, ballet, rhythmic gymnastics, the list continues.  We also went on a lot of annual family adventures to different places.  All of this, I believe has made me the curious, enthusiastic, and passionate learner I am today about things that excite me.  I always try to find a personal motivation, most of the time it is tied to passions of mine, in what I am learning.  With my inherent sense of aversion to conflict even at a young age, I found myself giving my whole heart in all that I learned and pursued partly because I knew my parents had given their whole heart in giving the best they could give to their child but also because I genuinely enjoyed and found joy in what I set my mind to accomplish.  It was a kind of balance and harmony that has recurred throughout my life.

Carrying this sensitivity to conflict and harmony with me, it complicated my adolescent years as the prevalence of peers crept into my life.  Plagued with a mix of teenage angst, jealousy, heightened self-consciousness, need for belonging, and search for identity, I believe my enthusiasm for things remained the same but the way in which I channelled it changed.  I began to keep a lot of my thoughts and enthusiasm inside of me for fear of being judged or disliked (being liked was an apparent thing to have as a teenager) instead of being as outspoken as I was before.  All of this has resulted in the way in which I interact with the world today: curious, seemingly reserved at first but passionate and enthusiastic when given the chance to express that.  In retrospect, however, I do feel a natural inclination to listen first then speak.  While the school environment may have shifted the way in which I negotiate my way in the world, it was also a period in which I was discovering my true inclinations.  Hence, I would say it was an inseparable mix of cultural and biological aspects which resulted in how I am as a learner.

At present, it has only been a year since I was exposed to another different education system of small, discussion-based classes on another side of the globe.  I am at a rather early stage of change but I do feel that I am at the point in my life where I have adopted multiple lenses in which I view and learn from the world because of my unique exposure to Eastern and Western culture.  I am now more aware of my natural inclinations as well and have made good strides, in my opinion, to processing things ahead of class and always finding my passions in the work I do, in order to be able to share my opinions in discussions—an adjustment I have made to improve my learning experience.  What I find interesting is that it is not only a personal trait that I am accommodating to but an entirely new classroom culture that encourages you to challenge the teacher or other students, speak up in class, and be critical of the material—all of which may seem a stark contrast to the environment I have been raised in my whole life.  If my parents and life experiences hadn’t taught me a certain level of positivity and openness to learning from challenges and experiencing new things, I wouldn’t be who I am today. 

Hence, this third-eye lens which often strives to tackle the difficult task of finding a balance between two opposing cultures defines me as a learner: one who empathises with learners who may be struggling to change or adapt to the current way of learning that they are in not because they are less capable or stupid but perhaps they were not raised that way, they are not naturally inclined to learn in that way, the set of expectations in their usual environment differs from that of the present—the factors are endless.  My desire to help people find their passions in what they are learning as I have found mine is a huge part of what I value in teaching and learning.  Because I have experienced it myself, I want other learners to be able to find joy and love in being genuine to themselves, be open and curious about what the world has to offer, and feel excited about the incredibly different ways in which they can learn and take in the world, one step at a time.

Tough Love for the Deaf

American Sign Language 3 was tough and draining with classes every Monday night for three hours.  It really did take some resilience and gumption to go for the class.  I think all of us were stubbornly in love with sign language that we put up with it and survived the horrible time slot of the class and pulled through.  As usual, I enjoyed the cultural aspect of it the most, especially exploring the area of Children with Deaf Adults (CODA) and their upbringing. ASL 4, please come next fall.  I will take you.

October 2014

Transitioning from ASL 2 to ASL 3 has been a big jump for me at times as the speed of signing and interpretting signs are getting faster. However, I enjoy the class and the autobiographical readings always give me a new perspective on Deaf culture and its community. I hope to catch up in class before the quiz comes up and will work harder in practicing signing and interpretting signs--a good challenge overall!

December 2014

American Sign Language 3 was a class I had really wanted to take as a continuation of my American Sign Language 1 and 2 classes and was incredibly happy to know that it was offered this semester. Academically, I did feel this class challenged me because the speed in signing was very fast for me. I also thought the timing of the class in the evening for 3 hours and only once a week was a challenge in and of itself mentally and physically. I did thoroughly enjoy signing and communicating in sign, however, did feel like my pace in improvement was slower because I could only practice once a week and felt the need to put in a lot of effort trying to understand what was signed in the homework videos because the signers’ speed was faster than I was prepared for. Nonetheless, it was always a challenge I would always try my best in. The way in which our exams were conducted (receptively and expressively) was a new approach and I thought helpful because it helped us not only practice understanding what was said, but express ourselves with sign.

As usual, the exploration of Deaf culture through the readings and movies from this class was what I enjoyed and felt most passionate about. I feel my knowledge and critical thoughts on mainstreaming Deaf kids, deafness outside of America as well as children of deaf adults (CODA) expanded as a result of this class. I am finding myself increasingly interested in the education and social aspect across my classes, including ASL 3. I find myself thinking about whether the learning potential of Deaf learners are maximized in the learning environments that they are in. My term paper on the cultural identity of CODAs as well as my response to the Life Without Words DVD encouraged me to think about the role culture, our family, our experiences, and the relationships we try to sustain can affect who are, essentially, as humans—hearing or Deaf.

Moving forward, I have seen some instances in which I risk slipping out of mastery in ASL because of heavy course loads from other classes and lack of time devoted into this class. Hence, I hope to counter that by becoming more active in ASL perhaps attending ASL lunches more often, finding times and spaces in which I can practice my signing, as well as strive for an ASL 4 class at Hampshire that meets more than once a week in the day or early evening. Whatever it is, I have found myself still coming back for more even in a hectic schedule this semester because of the love of this language and the joy of communicating, listening, and understanding people more. I am and will always be excited to learn even more from this world of the Deaf I have been privileged to get a taste of.